


The Signs

by veritascara



Series: Ad Astra [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, Missing Scene, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, episode: s04e15 Family Reunion - and Farewell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 05:09:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15017333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritascara/pseuds/veritascara
Summary: A childhood lesson she hoped she’d never need comes back to haunt Hera, and she isn’t sure how she feels about it.Set during “Family Reunion – and Farewell.”





	The Signs

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, here's part three for you wonderful, patient people. Enjoy!
> 
> Thanks again to [Anoray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anoray/pseuds/Anoray) and [uhura_ismylastname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uhura_ismylastname/pseuds/uhura_ismylastname) for being my extra eyes!

_“Hera.”_

_“Hera!”_

_A sharp voice calling her name yanked Hera out of her daydream and back to the present, and she winced when she saw the frustration on the face of the face of the woman in front of her, the way her blue lekku arched stiffly behind her back. “Sorry. I got . . . distracted.”_

_The woman, Isval, Hera remembered belatedly, closed her eyes and took a breath. After a moment her lekku dropped back to a neutral position, and she focused on Hera again, much to her chagrin. Picturing herself on another training flight was so much more enjoyable than this . . . lesson—although really, pretty much anything would be._

_“Now I need you to tell me, what are the three signs?”_

_The signs? Oh kriff, what were they again? Hera looked away and dug her nails into her palms. Wait. “Umm, something about my palms. And, uh, pain, somewhere?” She bit her lip and chanced a glance back up at the woman._

_Isval sighed. “Darkened palms. Stomach pain. And swollen lips. All three of those together are the signs. One or two don’t really matter, just keep watching. But if you have all three—and our bodies are made to tell us quickly—you need to find a midwife or doctor or a medical droid right away, so they can take care of it.”_

_“Okay . . .” Hera said hesitantly. She thought she had an idea what ‘take care of it’ meant, but she wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know. There was one other part that confused her, though. “But why would my lips get swollen?” she said, reaching up to her face._

_“Not those lips,” Isval said, “those lips.” She pointed towards Hera’s crotch._

_Hera’s eyes went round, and she felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She could only imagine how dark green they must be._

_Isval’s face softened. “Listen, kid. I’m sorry I have to be the one to talk to you about all this. I know it shouldn’t be me. But Ashla knows your father never will.”_

_Hera pressed her lips into a thin line and shot the woman an angry glare at the mention of her father. He’d come—to visit her before she went to flight school, he’d said—and she’d barely seen him. And she hadn’t seen him for four whole months before that._

_But Isval ignored her and continued on. “There are things you have to know. Cham’s kept you safe so far, but you are almost thirteen summers, a Twi’lek, and a girl. The galaxy is a dangerous place for us, and you have to know how to protect yourself.”_

_“I can fight just fine.”_

_“Sometimes fighting isn’t enough.”_

_Hera felt another angry retort at the top of her tongue, but it died away when she read the weary expression on the woman’s face, the limp droop of her lekku. Somewhere, beneath the battle scars and fierce, sharpened teeth she saw a glimpse of a young girl who had suffered. A girl who maybe was trying to keep her from hurting the same way._

_She held her tongue._

_“Please, tell me again what the signs are,” Isval requested._

_“Darkened palms.” Hera thought hard, feeling the need to recall them more acutely. “Stomach pain.” She automatically wrapped her arms around her middle. “Swollen . . . lips.”_

_“Good. Now once more.”_

_“Darkened palms. Stomach pain. Swollen lips,” Hera said, this time more freely. For the first time in their long, awkward conversation, she realized Isval felt more like a friend._

Darkened palms. Stomach pain. Swollen lips. _She repeated the signs to herself once more, committing them to memory._

_Not that she would ever need them._

* * *

Hera walked quietly through the living quarters of the Ghost. Its rooms reverberated with an unnatural stillness, an emptiness she hadn’t felt in years, as if the ship herself was mourning Kanan’s loss. Or maybe the emptiness was just inside of her.

She was probably cracking up, falling apart. Now really wasn’t the time for that.

With a quick glance at the desolate common rooms behind her, Hera entered the medbay and shut the door.

It wasn’t much of a room—never had been. Really, it was just a small storage closet she’d converted years ago, recognizing the need to have more emergency equipment on hand, as the nature of their missions became increasingly more dangerous. They had been lucky they hadn’t used it more often over the past few years, although maybe that wasn’t luck at all. She’d lived with Jedi too long to believe in luck.

A deep cramp starting low in her belly worked its way across her midsection, wrapping around to her back.

No, luck didn’t exist at all.

Hera sighed and closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing and calm her emotions. She had to stop the tears before they threatened to fall again. Now really wasn’t the time for that either. She only had a few minutes, and she needed to do what she’d come for quickly.

Hera lifted the small, archaic triage droid off its shelf and set it down on the bench that counted for a bunk—she could barely have laid down flat on it, if she had needed to. It was a lost cause for anyone taller; they’d learned that the hard way once with Zeb.

Then she began digging around in the lower drawers for the test cartridge she needed. It took her a minute to remember its location, in the back of a drawer of miscellaneous things they never actually used—things like this.

She’d certainly hoped she’d never use it, but it was always better to be prepared. Pure paranoia had kept her from getting rid of it. And here she was, using it after all.

Hera sat down on the bench next to the machine. She shifted a couple times, trying to find a comfortable position that put less pressure on her puffy, aching labia. It was a lost cause, as she already knew. Her hands trembled as she inserted the cartridge and powered on the machine, waiting for the ancient thing to cycle through its self checks and praying that it functioned at all. The seconds ticked by painfully. If she took too long someone would come looking for her and their mission couldn’t wait and–

_“Hello. Multispecies chorionic gonadotropin test inserted. Please apply blood sample.”_

Hera sighed with relief at sound of the metallic ‘voice’ coming from the droid’s speaker, and removed her gloves one at a time. Like a magnet, her eyes were again drawn to her palms, as they had been every day for the past three days. Holding her hands up, she stared at the dark green skin there, rich and fertile like the equatorial forests of Ryloth.

She shook her head to clear it and looked away. Quickly, she grabbed the autolancet and pricked her finger, then fed a drop of blood into the cartridge.

 _“Please wait. Testing,”_ the machine droned.

Hera leaned back to rest her head against the wall behind her and closed her eyes. The hum of the Ghost’s air systems buzzed around her, vibrating through the hull of the ship. She didn’t know what she wanted the result of the test to be. But she was pretty sure she knew what it was going to say anyways.

_Darkened palms. Stomach pain. Swollen lips._

The machine clicked and spat out the test cartridge, the tiny indicator lights on its surface still blinking as it processed its results.

“Hurry. Please,” she whispered. The tiny room felt overly hot, the walls closing in around her. She was struck by a sudden need to run, to escape to somewhere, anywhere else—a feeling she thought she’d conquered long ago as a child.

_“Test completed.”_

_Darkened palms. Stomach pain. Swollen lips._

Hera held her breath, frozen in a singularity, her fate ready to swallow her up. Another deep cramp squeezed her abdomen.

_“Chorionic gonadotropin level elevated. Pregnancy likely. Further medical testing and care recommended. Goodbye.”_

A report spat out of the printer’s side, then without further elaboration, the droid shut itself off and went dark. Mechanically, Hera reached out and ripped the small piece of flimsi free. Maybe, just maybe, it said something different. But it was just the same—or essentially so. A meaningless number next to the test name, which she assumed to be her blood value. The normal range below that was far lower than her number. Not good. A couple lines of text printed below that were word-for-word the same as what the machine had told her already.

_Pregnant._

Hera folded up the flimsi and stuffed it into her pocket.

_Darkened palms. Stomach pain. Swollen lips._

She stared at the bare gray door in front of her, longing for something, anything else to focus on. Why had she never told Sabine to paint this room? She dropped her head into her hands, as if shutting out the sights around her might change the outcome, change the situation. Which was what exactly?

Exactly what she’d allowed to happen.

If she blinked her eyes open, she’d see her palms in front of them; if she shifted, she’d feel the uncomfortable pressure on her nether regions; inevitably, the persistent cramping would return to haunt her; and now the printout in her pocket . . .

Kriff, she was pregnant, and she really didn’t know how to feel about that.

In another time, another life—one where Kanan was alive, where there was no war looming over the galaxy, she supposed the discovery would have been one of joy. Even now she longed to be able to grasp at that fleeting emotion and hold onto it with every fiber of her being. But Kanan _was_ gone, and the galaxy _was_ at war—a war she’d been fighting in some way since she was seven years old. It had obliterated almost everyone she’d ever loved. What kind of life was that to bring a child into? A terrifying one.

Babies died in war. She knew that all too well.

Yet, she did not feel terror either. She simply felt nothing. A great, yawning emptiness consumed her from the inside out, and somewhere deep within that cavern was its source: a black hole that had taken up residence within her, its size infinitesimal, its mass infinite.

And now she had to do something about it— _take care of it_. Fifteen years on, Hera understood well the double meaning embedded in her father’s friend’s admonishment. She knew which meaning she might have embraced without hesitation even a couple years earlier, when her drive to save the galaxy and fight for the rebellion had still seemed so simple, so straightforward. But she also knew which meaning she would choose now, which path she had already chosen—on a night in Kanan’s arms in their camp, on a whole day spent on Yavin IV without visiting the medcenter, in a hundred tiny decisions in the two weeks since.

She had chosen, would choose to have his child. Kanan’s child. Nearly the only tangible thing he had left behind in the galaxy, certainly the most precious.

Hera wrapped her arms around her belly, as if that might stop the emptiness from growing even greater. It didn’t. A sudden wave of grief washed over her at what she had lost—her best friend, her partner, her lover, and now . . . her future child’s father.

And what a father Kanan would have been. She could picture without hesitation the joy, the excitement that would light up his sightless eyes at the knowledge of what they’d created. But she could also envision the anxiety, the uncertainty that would be on display there—the fear. _Fear for her safety_. Their lives were dangerous, and a pregnancy added so many more unknowns. What risks might she face carrying a human’s baby? She didn’t even know herself. _Fear for the baby_. What dangers had she already unknowingly subjected it to? _But most of all, fear of her decisions_. She knew without a doubt that Kanan would fear that she would refuse to bear his child at all, while he still wanted it desperately anyways. Her heart twisted knowing her own emotional distance to be the cause of that one. Why had she kept him at arm’s length so long? It had saved neither of them from pain or grief at multiple points. It had never really improved her focus on the rebellion. It had only hurt him and hindered–

A sudden beep from Hera’s comm cut off any further painful musings and startled her back to life.

“Hera, are you still on the ship?”

“Yeah, Zeb,” she croaked, trying her best to hide the roughness in her voice—probably failing. “Is everything in place?”

“Everything’s sorted down here. We’re bringing Pryce up now. Can you get Ezra and bring him with you? He followed you in a few minutes ago.”

“I’m on my way.”

Action was always easier than contemplation. Hera hopped down from the tiny bunk, tossed the triage droid back onto its crowded shelf, and pulled her gloves back on. But even when she left the room, neither her body nor her mind let her forget the changes within it. Instinctively, her movements became slower, more cautious than usual. Her pace lagged even more at the distant sound of Ezra’s voice echoing from the gun turret above.

“–but I’m afraid—not for me, but for my friends.”  

Another cramp, lighter this time, twisted Hera’s stomach into knots, and her hand drifted there without thinking, as much in response to what she now knew lay within as the discomfort. She listened to Ezra’s words and drew closer.

“They’ve fought so hard, given so much, and helped me understand why you stood up to the Empire and made the sacrifices you did.” As he continued on, she realized he was addressing his own parents, and she blinked back tears that threatened to encroach on her vision. Now wasn’t the time for that. But something in what he said resonated deeply with her fears, and with her hopes.

Hopes. She had hopes?

“I wish you could meet them, my new family.”

Hera smiled a little. She did have hope. Ezra embodied that hope. His parents had raised him from an infant to be a boy who loved, looked out for, connected with others, no matter his circumstances. She and Kanan had been privileged to raise him into the young man he was now, but his parents’ love had always been there, guiding and supporting him. And all of them had done so through a war, had given him everything they had, and not for nothing.

Painful as it may be, to raise a child regardless of the circumstances was to create hope.

“–I want you to know everything I have done and will do began with you.”

Hera’s smile grew and softened, and a blinking light flickered deep within her belly—a single, tiny star hanging alone in the vast blackness of Wild Space to guide her way. It illuminated the overwhelming darkness, filled the emptiness that had pervaded her being.

“Ezra,” she called up, her own voice still sounding shaky in her ears, “they’re bringing her up.”

Ezra startled at the sound and looked down. For a moment fear played across his features, but he climbed down the ladder quietly and put the data pad away on his bunk, while Hera waited in the corridor.

“Let’s go.” Ezra turned towards the lower ladder to leave, but Hera placed her hand on his shoulder to stop him. She didn’t need the Force to read the measure of uncertainty in his steps, to feel the conflicts hiding deep inside. He had such strong faith and strength, it was easy to forget sometimes that he was still only eighteen.

“Ezra.” He stopped at her touch and turned towards her, and Hera met his eyes. “Whatever happens today, we’re all with you.”

“Thank you,” he replied, earnest and warm. He paused for a moment and glanced towards the cockpit, some memory of the past playing out in his mind. “You always believed in me, right from the start. I couldn’t have done any of this without you, Hera.”

Hera wanted to protest, but another unanticipated wave of emotion crested over her, and she fought back tears to give him a watery smile. “Kanan would be proud of you,” she said.

Ezra stared at her, his gaze suddenly reminding her so much of Kanan’s—the way he’d always seen straight through her, whatever their situation. Then abruptly, Ezra threw his arms around her. The childlike gesture took Hera by surprise, but she welcomed his embrace all the same and pulled him close, basking in the warmth and physical contact she’d hardly known she’d needed. But no sooner had she relaxed into the hug when another cramp gripped her insides. Hera closed her eyes and fought the urge to stiffen against the mild pain.

“Kanan would be proud of you too,” Ezra whispered against her shoulder, squeezing her a little tighter. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she pulled back to wipe it away with her sleeve and regain control.

She took a deep breath to steady her emotions while Ezra waited, his steadying hand still on her shoulder. _When had the child somehow become the parent? When had all the clear cut lines they’d once known blurred into oblivion?_ she wondered. Four years had passed in the blink of an eye. And this was what had become of the self-centered boy she’d once begged to warn the others of a deadly trap. This was the young padawan who had struggled so much with darkness after his cumulative losses. Now he was a shining light striving to set his homeworld free, ready to give everything he had so that others might live free of the darkness he’d grown up under. Of course Kanan would have been proud, but she was proud of him too, so very proud.

“May the Force be with us,” she said, once she trusted her voice again.

A half-smile appeared on Ezra’s face, and Hera watched his confidence bloom as he took her statement to heart. “It will be,” he said with assurance. “Come on. Can’t keep our guest waiting.” He cocked his head toward the ladder to the hold and climbed down before her, glancing up to watch her progress as she followed him down. Hera smiled a little at his sweet gesture and his gentleness with her after her emotional outburst. The poor kid had been taking care of her far too much lately. She’d have to make it up to him when this mission was over.

Hera followed Ezra down the Ghost’s ramp, and she stepped back to lean against it in the shadows, her mind wandering while he did his work. If she never saw Pryce again, it would be too soon, but she still derived no joy from the other woman’s fear. Her stomach churned again, whether from the cramps or from the memory of the awful day she’d spent as Pryce’s captive, she hardly knew. And she crossed her arms across her chest to keep from touching her belly, fearful of drawing attention to her discovery in front of anyone who might wish her harm.

A horrifying thought crossed her mind then. What if Pryce _had_ known? Even worse: what if _Thrawn_ had known? _Could_ they have known so soon? She didn’t know. But even in her pain-induced haze, Pryce’s twisted glee and Thrawn’s veiled threats against her future had etched themselves into her mind. Hera’s heart pounded, and she felt bile rising in her throat. She shot a look at the other woman, now groveling on the ground in front of a wolf, so easily cowed by a few minutes of pressure, and wished for a single moment that they didn’t need her—that they could simply end her.

But revenge wasn’t their way. It never was.

Hera shook her head and banished the dark thoughts from her mind. Whether they had somehow known or not, she was free now and safe. Well, as safe as she could be in the midst of a dangerous mission for an active rebellion in a galaxy preparing to go to war.

What was she going to do? The overwhelming impossibility of it all again threatened to overwhelm her. Making one choice necessarily led to another and another and another, all the choices piling up until they built an unscalable mountain to be conquered. No, not conquered, survived. But how could they do it?

The cramp eased, and Hera released a breath and closed her eyes. A remembered warmth settled itself on her right shoulder, and she lifted her hand to the spot where Kanan had so often laid his hand when coming into the cockpit to greet her, offering his reassurance even when she would have denied needing it.

 _I wish you were here_ , she thought. _You’d know what to do._

No reply came into her mind, not that she expected one. This was her battle to fight. It was one of those days where she just had one small hope dangling in front of her, and she’d take it or die trying.

_Darkened palms. Stomach pain. Swollen lips._

One choice made. Thousands more to go. She’d do her damned best to stay safe today, and deal with the others later.

For herself and the baby. And for Kanan.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all you lovelies who have been following along with this series. The next stories are in progress and hopefully coming soon! You can find me on [tumblr](http://veritascara.tumblr.com/) for updates. <3


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